


Targeting

by Relvetica



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Archery, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvetica/pseuds/Relvetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't know a thing about archery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Targeting

The expression on Rydia's face when Cecil offered her the newly-purchased quiver was not encouraging. "... For me?"

It wasn't that Cecil didn't like children. It was more that Cecil had never been around any children long enough to form a proper opinion either way, and this child in particular was not in any mood to be treated with clumsy niceties. After some consideration, he had decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to focus less on the 'child' aspect and more on the 'potentially devastatingly powerful mage' aspect. Unfortunately, that wasn't really his department, either.

He had never really understood how rods and staves were supposed to operate as weapons, and the few battles in which Rydia had attempted to participate in the desert outside Kaipo suggested that she didn't, either. This led to a reliance on her black magic, which seemed to wear her out quickly. After about an hour's travel, Cecil had forced himself to rethink the situation rationally, and they'd looped back to the tiny village to pick up new equipment.

"For you," he said firmly. Rydia took and held it awkwardly with both hands. The leather straps were stiff with lack of wear, and the arrows bristled with gull feathers. "... You wear it over your shoulder."

"I know that," she said. She slipped a skinny arm into the quiver's harness and tested its weight. "...I've never had to shoot anything before."

Cecil knelt and offered her the bow. "I know." The weapon shop's proprietor had eyed him stragely when, after having been shown a wide array of huge hunting bows, heavy bowguns, and crossbows with sixty pound draws, Cecil had coughed and asked for something a little... smaller. Even after finding the little solder-boy's bow, he wasn't sure that she was even going to be able to handle putting the thing together. "Don't get ahead of yourself. See if you can pull this loop--" he tugged on the loose bowstring, "--over this notch here."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I don't want to have to do it for you every morning until you're strong enough to handle a knife. You can put that down."

Rydia unshouldered the quiver gratefully and took the bow, yew in one hand and gut in the other. It took her a few minutes to combine them usefully; he spent the time unpacking the glove he'd bought her, eying it critically. It, too, was made for a boy several years older. Oh, well.

"I did it!" She waved the bow under his nose triumphantly, grinning brightly. He'd seen her summon a titan not two days ago, and here she was crowing over an assembled bow.

"Very good. Put this on." He passed on the glove and turned to his shoulderpack in search of something to use as a target.

"Ah, it's too big."

"That's okay, as long as you-- well, no, you have it on the wrong hand." He pulled out a thick piece of parchment with a frown. What... oh, his official summons for the Mysidia mission. He hissed a little and folded it over hastily. "Yeah, that's better."

She lifted her hand and flexed it. "Still too big."

"Well," Cecil said patiently, "that's what laces are for. Hold on." Another search through his bag found a piece of grey chalk, and he used it to draw a series of wobbly concentric circles on the clean side of the parchment. He laid it down and put the chalk away. "Okay, come here."

She held up her ridiculously gloved hand for inspection. "Do you know a lot about shooting arrows?"

He chose to answer this with a grunt, which usually worked well when people asked him questions he didn't particularly want to answer. She seemed less than impressed, but didn't ask again. He laced up the glove as tightly as he could, but he could see that it wasn't really going to work. "We'll find something better later."

They were well outside of the village's paling, but there were a few low, ragged bushes here and there, drawing what they could from the moisture of the oasis. Cecil poked a hole through the top off his target and fitted it onto the dry branch of a plant that appeared to be dead. "We'll start at ten paces."

Rydia picked up the quiver again and followed him solemnly as he marked the distance with his boot. He pulled off his helm and gauntlets, dropping them into the sandy dust, and knelt again, gently taking the bow and one arrow from her. "Like this," he said, showing her how to hold her arm out.

"How come you took your gloves _off?"_ she asked, tugging the fingers of her own glove straight.

"Because I'm tougher than you. Pay attention." She set her mouth into a tiny line and leaned over his shoulder to watch. "Fit the arrow into the bowstring... like so... holding it here." He relaxed his arm to pull the bow back, showing her how he was gripping the arrow. She nodded. "Then you pull back, aim, and let go all at once." He offered her the bow. "Try."

Rydia raised her eyebrows expectantly. "You're not going to do it?"

"Well... it's a very small bow."

She crossed her arms, fixing him with a suspicious glare. The glove ruined the effect. " _You_ try."

"Rydia."

"So I know how to do it." Her expression softened into her charming little smile again; he felt one of his eyebrows twitch. "Please?"

He sighed. Lifting his arm again, he pulled back, aimed, and let go. The arrow clipped the edge of the paper and then spun off, landing with a great plume of dust several feet to the right.

"Ha! I knew it." She grinned triumphantly; he stood and went to retrieve the arrow. "You don't know a _thing_ about bows and arrows."

He knelt beside her again with a great creaking of his armor and sighed. It was hot. "You try it."

She smirked and took the bow back, reaching for an arrow; her glee at humiliating the Dark Knight was lessened some when she got it caught in her hair, but Cecil said nothing.

She didn't even hit the bush. The arrow shot off on its own merry way, burying itself head-first the sand before it got as far as the target. "... Oh," she said.

"It's all right," Cecil said mildly. "It's not as easy as it looks. Try again."

She did. It took another three tries before she got an arrow to travel as far as the full ten paces, and another five before she got anywhere near the bush. After that she became noticeably frustrated, and Cecil let her take a break.

"Why can't I just hit things with lightning?" She sat down in the sand and scowled. "That was working pretty well, I think."

"You need to save your strength," Cecil said. And then, because he was either feeling more amiable towards the girl or just chatty, he added, "You know the girl in the village, with the fever?"

Suddenly, he had Rydia's full attention. "Yes?"

"She's an expert archer. She used to compete in the tournaments every year. She has medals."

"Used to?"

Cecil shrugged. "She didn't this year."

Rydia grinned up at him slyly. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"She's..." _It's complicated,_ was his usual reply, tight and uninviting, but after the events of the last few days he had to admit that it really wasn't that complicated at all, and he sighed. "Yeah, she's my girlfriend."

"Thought so," Rydia beamed, as though this was some great deduction on her part.

The silence after that probably wasn't as awkward as it felt to Cecil; he was thinking, Rosa would turn cartwheels if she heard me say that. That made him feel more awkward. He scratched the back of his head. "When she gets better, she can teach you this better than I can."

Rydia poked her finger in the dust, doodling idly. "You must be real worried."

"Yeah." He stood up and walked over to his pathetic little target, straightening it with a tug on one corner.

"It'll be okay." She looked at him from the ground, smiling. "We'll find the sandruby, and it'll all be okay!" Her smile faded a little as she dusted her hands off, and Cecil couldn't help but feel intensely sorry for her.


End file.
